


Gravity or Dignity

by EllaNutella



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars: The Old Republic, swtor - Fandom
Genre: Chiss, Gen, Imperial Intelligence, Luiran, Sith Empire, The Ascendancy, Veldessian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaNutella/pseuds/EllaNutella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veldessian, Imperial Agent, makes a call home to the Ascendancy seeking news about a potential return home; instead, he receives poor news, and his identity becomes at risk -- from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity or Dignity

The halls beneath the bulk of headquarters were darker and quieter. Here, the more obscure staff of Intelligence did the work Veldessian considered especially dull. The east wing held interrogation chambers, and most of the consoles here were manned by men and women spying on the Empire’s own public. They correlated data, organized information about an incredible amount of perfectly average individuals. Watch and listen. Veldessian preferred interaction, manipulation, the challenge of adaption. Categorization was dull. And the dark, silent halls did little to alleviate his already present tension. He was no stranger to living below-ground, but Chiss living spaces were different than these pits. Cipher Ten coolly pushed Veldessian aside and drew comfort from the dark and the silence; that was where Imperial Intelligence lived and if he couldn’t tolerate it, he’d best get out.

This was the part of Intelligence few people knew about. National security from the Republic and their incompetent SIS agents was what everyone preferred the galaxy to think about; the rabble didn’t realize the extent of the internal operations. And it was best to keep it that way.

Fixer Sixty-Nine tapped his foot anxiously at the corner of intersecting hallways. When Veldessian appeared through the gloom, he nearly jumped. “Damn it, Cipher, do you need to be so creepifying?” the other Chiss demanded.

Cipher Ten frowned at the tall but gangly Fixer. “Be more aware of your surroundings then.”

“Hey, I’m going out on a limb for you, here. No need to get aggressive.” He glanced around emphatically. “ _They’re watching_.”

Ten raised an eyebrow at Sixty-Nine. Sixty-Nine’s eyes widened as he looked back at Ten and he gripped his shoulder. And didn’t blink. For many long, long seconds.

“Yes. Of course. My apologies. I’m a tad on edge,” Ten said at last. And Mierrik thought  _he_ was paranoid.

“Oh, yeah!” the Fixer resumed brightly, releasing Ten. “That picnic today. Were the ladies hooooooot or what?” He grinned, nudging Ten in the side with a sharp elbow.

“It would be rude to comment without the women in question present,” Ten answered neutrally.

Sixty-Nine gave an exaggerated wink. “Right. Yeah. Sure. I gotchya, C.”

Ten had a sudden and clear vision of Agent Zharyn and the Fixer marrying and spawning annoying, paranoid children. It was partly amusing, but sufficiently terrifying that he decided it would be best to keep them apart. Permanently.

“The room, Fixer?” Ten prompted.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, I can only guarantee you an hour. After that, you’ll have to assume you’re being watched. But I mean, we all are anyway. I can’t stop the Force or whatever from alerting the Dark Council that you’re giving away their secrets.”

“It’s just a call home.”

“To give away _secrets_ ,” he insisted.

Ten suppressed a sigh. The other Chiss led him to a small room, one of many, designed for extremely private holocalls. He slid a small tab into the holocomm and began adjusting the frequencies, rambling all the while about the different ways the Sith could be spying on them  _right now._ Cipher Ten bore it with silent dignity. 

“Okay, here, it’s set up. Soon as I close the door, give it sixty seconds, and then you can call, and you have exactly an hour and-”

“Yes, thank you.” Cipher Ten opened the door and gestured for Fixer Sixty-Nine to let go.

“Remember who’s the best, right?” He gestured as if he had two guns, blasting the air. “I’m da man, man. But not The Man, because, like, I’m not psycho. And you know, our deal - don’t tell the Sith about my thing and I won’t tell anyone about your thing and all the things will be secret and after this,  _we’re even_.”

“Yes, we are. Shall I pass on a greeting to your family?”

“Noooooooooo _oooooooo_.” Sixty-Nine continued chattering blithely until Veldessian had closed the door. He mentally ticked off sixty seconds, and activated the comm.

Roughly fifteen seconds later, a pretty, young Chiss woman, no older than sixteen in Chiss years, answered. Vel'uiran'eshdo’s expression was remote, but a small smile flickered over her face when she saw Veldessian.

There was a strong resemblance between the two - defined features, a lack of smile lines, and even through the blue-and-white of the holocomm, there was a distinct flush of color at their cheeks. But where he was eerily still, a cold statue, a still night, she seemed to sway, as if warm winds wandered inside her, whistling. She was an uncommon beauty, once in an age, both distant like faraway peaks and close like the walls of a room. She inclined her head politely and her eyes glimmered like ice crystals. 

“Brother,” she said, “this is unexpected but not unwelcome.” In Cheunh, it was but two words, covered in decades, even centuries, of meaning. Knowing her, it was also probably used by some hero of an ancient age to greet long-lost family.

“Sister, it has been too long,” he answered, though his Chuenh was more clumsy than he wanted to admit.

Tenses were not so simple as in Basic. He could feel the effects of being away from home for so long and it shamed him. She gracefully reprieved him from excusing his thick tongue with a tilt of her head, though her own clarity and lyrical word choice nevertheless made him feel a child. She was ten years younger, barely an adult, and yet she spoke with an elder grace.

Veldessian had lied when he said Psyche was the epitome of a Chiss woman; Psyche was simply the most Chiss woman that he could expect to marry. His sister was everything a Chiss could aspire to be, man or woman. She had strong genes and a powerful mind.

“Your call was missed last month. We hope trouble did not fall into your boots and share your form. Shall I call mother and father to see you?" 

"Last month, too much could have been risked. I currently have but an hour,” he said shortly. These family conversations could get long-winded.

“Then the hour is precious. What news shall I share with you?”

“Anything military or political that may affect me. I do not need a full recount of conversations.” His mouth quirked in a teasing smile.

Luiran’s responded with a smile of her own. “The Aristocras watch the Empire, waiting for an offense to which to react. Each Family is developing a second mind for this alliance in their own time. Too many siblings and cousins are lost in a line of duty that shares no intersection with our own lines. But it will be some time, I think, before the decision is made.”

He tilted his head at her. “Would you move to pull our people from Imperial ranks?”

She inclined her head. “That would be preferable if it should be that this Empire no longer furthers our purposes. It would not be left to me to decide the when of it, however.” She allowed herself a lengthy pause for emphasis. “Not yet.”

“Does this mean you’re intending to enter the political realm?”

“The literary only intersects so much with the future of our people. Mistake not the power of a word - but  _that_  is a slow-moving glacier. When it comes to foreigners, we have need of a boat and strong oars.” The word she used for foreigners tinged on disparaging - it meant the uncouth and the fair-haired, those so removed from society and culture that they has no place at a table. He’d almost forgotten it.

His heart sank a little. “Luiran,” he said gently, “that path holds only fear and struggle. This, I know.” He held a hand over his chest, just above his heart. 

She lifted her chin. “For the Ascendency, my own fears and struggles are a distant star.”

“All things are connected,” he answered sadly, his hand falling back to his side. “Have them send for me, so that I might at least act as guard for you. It would paint me a poor brother to let my sister go forth into the political storm alone.”

She frowned sternly at him and almost resembled their mother for just a moment. For sixteen years, she carried herself with gravity and dignity. “Your duty is where you are.”

‘Duty’ was a complicated term. It meant responsibility, but also honor, pleasure, fate, and sacrifice. He heard it all in the weight of her voice.

When he remained silent, she placed her hand over her heart as he had. “You risk much for being so far from the Ascendency. We honor your sacrifice.” She used the same word. “For many in your position, it is their fate to fall so that the rest may ascend.”

His brow furrowed very faintly. “You speak as though I am an exile,” he said, more curt than ever.

“Never.” _Not even until frost and ice coat all the planets in all the galaxies_. “But you hear yourself speak and I see that you hear your words become more foreign. You speak in our tongue, but you speak with their heart - brief and with one meaning. This is not shame; this was the task assigned to you, to learn their hearts and beat with them. We do not shame this.”

Breath left him and for several long seconds as he processed her words, and his expression grew remote. If he was not wholly Chiss to Luiran, his own sister, then he could hardly expect to be Chiss to Psyche. Even his thoughts came more often in Basic now than in Cheunh. The decision for the Ascendency to resume its closed borders would take a great deal of time, and if it took too long for the Families to agree and pull out their troops, then there was a chance he could never return home, leaving him… here. “You speak truth.”

Luiran tilted her head in inquiry.

He shook his head in reply. “That explains much to me. And you are not wrong.” He inhaled, giving himself a chance to pause and gather his thoughts. “If here is where I am meant to be, then here is where I shall stay. For the glory of the Ascendency.”

Her smile was sad. “For the glory of the Ascendency,” she echoed.

“I have another request for you, however.”

“Name it.”

Veldessian clasped his hands behind his back. “What do you remember of Zore'no'farn?”

Luiran’s blink was slow as she looped together threads and memories, drawing them and finding what she needed. “Zore'no'farn is a user of this Force the Empire worships. He struck the first blow out of turn and in anger; he has been exiled. We do not speak his name in these halls any longer.”

“Would the status of Sith Lord change matters?”

“In our proper ways, there has been no precedent and no reason for this to be so; his crimes are still committed, and no amount of power changes the past.” She paused. “There are some who become too enamored with these outsider traditions. Their values are questionable, but as thoughts commit no crimes, we have no cause to shun them.” Her gaze lingered on Veldessian. “Should he have children with one of our people, it is possible that his children would be welcomed.”

Veldessian suppressed a shudder at the thought of Psyche bearing Lord Eno’s children.

“Has he acted against the Ascendency again?” she pressed.

“It would be too soon to tell, but I would tilt an ear in the halls to hear his name. He seeks a cousin’s hand in marriage; she accepts.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “Unfortunate, but not unprecedented. Perhaps exile has soothed his ego.” She saw the expression on Veldessian’s face and raised her brows delicately. “…Perhaps not.”

“It is for the best. I would have sought her hand otherwise.”

For the first time in the whole conversation, Luiran’s face blossomed into a full smile, widening her cheeks, scrunching her nose. She looked like a child again, and he was comforted. Veldessian hadn’t been home when she was born, but he saw her often as she grew up. In the first, long, homesick stretches of his time in the Empire, he neither heard from her nor saw her. When he finally visited home, she was happy and bright. He wished she could stay that way forever, would never grow up, wouldn’t involve herself in politics. He soaked in this remnant of her childhood.

“It is  _so_  difficult to find a lady that would please you, brother. You’re so picky,” she said, her tone momentarily reminding him of his sister at five years old.

“All I want is someone who is beautiful, smart, clever, with interests, with a passion - what is so difficult about that?” he asked, smiling broadly in turn.

She gave a belabored sigh. “None ever have enough of anything!”

Veldessian held the smile a moment longer, and then let it falter. “Perhaps it is for the best. It would be unfair to marry a woman and then not be present until my old age, if I should be so lucky as to live so long.”

Luiran bowed her head. “And so it does fall to me to carry on our lineage.” When she glanced back up at him, there was a humorous glint in her eye, but the child-like smile had vanished under the remote expression again.

“I will have to meet him,” he said sharply, his tone promising a sound beating for anyone who dared glance at his sister. 

“Of course, brother.” She let the conversation fall to a natural lull and then picked it back up again as if it were an evening drink. “Should the Families come to a decision before you contact us again, I will make sure to find a way to inform you of it.”

He inclined his head in thanks. “I will do what I can to keep in touch. Tell mother and father I find the absence of their nagging leaves a void in my life the size and strength of a black hole.”

She gave a short laugh. “I shall. Persevere, my brother.” She bowed her head goodbye.

“Be safe.” He closed the channel.

He still had a few minutes before his hour was up, enough to ponder the repercussions of being neither fully Chiss nor Imperial. Perhaps for the first time in history, there was an exile who would be celebrated. Or perhaps he would simply lurk in the shadows of Chiss histories, as he lurked in the shadows of the Empire. He wasn’t  _really_  an exile, but it was a matter of technicality. A patch of ice seemed to form at the base of his ribcage, spreading through his limbs and he allowed himself a moment to sag, to rub his eyes, to be  _tired_. The gravity of home did not, perhaps, reach as far as he first thought.

But when the hour was up, Cipher Nine resumed his duties. For the Empire.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to krahka on tumblr for letting me borrow her Fixer, Sinki.


End file.
